


Patience Is Bitter

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Arguing, Banter, Blood Loss, Bruises, Caretaking, Choking, Chronic Pain, Death Threats, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hemophilia, Hiding Medical Issues, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insults, Jealousy, Lack of Compassion, Manipulation, Medical Procedures, Multiple Selves, Obligation, Oblivious, One does not simply ignore a request made by Dark, Phobias, Protectiveness, Queerplatonic Dark/Host - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Research, Show Business, Stress, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Because the Host's visions completely distort his sense of time, Dark serves as the Host's timekeeper. The Host is past due for an important medical procedure and his condition is quickly getting worse. One can imagine that Dark's patience wears thin under pressure...What will he do when his request for another Ego's help is refused?





	Patience Is Bitter

If he hadn’t been feeling the effects, the Host might have convinced himself that he was perfectly fine. For him, time and space were completely haphazard, twisted back and forth and inside out, and he would have given up on it completely if it hadn’t been for his condition.

For the most part, he could accept the blood as a natural part of his everyday life. Dr. Iplier would change his bandages, give him an injection of coagulants to keep the hemophilia under control, remind him to stop by if he started getting headaches and then send him on his way. In and out the days went by this way, but there was a countdown hidden in it all.

He kept track of each twenty-four hours that passed. Every hour on the hour, Dark would remind him of the time, to help him gauge how he was feeling at that time and whether or not it was acceptable in medical terms. It was a gesture that the Host appreciated immensely. He didn’t track the days _meticulously_ but he always kept the number in the back of his mind: two days…a week…two weeks…three.

With all of this timekeeping in mind, he was keenly aware of the deadline that had passed just a few days ago. It wasn’t that he was unconcerned about it, but he knew exactly what the reactions would be if he asked his symptoms to be treated. Dr. Iplier would have to take specific time out of his schedule to dig through his equipment, get in contact with the others and pull them away from their busy schedules, and the Host would have to sit and wait with nothing but the ticking clock and his own pain to keep him company. Everything about it was an inconvenience and he didn’t want to put that pressure on them; he’d much rather bear it on his own.

Today, however, he could sense that the situation had changed. His fingers tingled and quivered violently. He felt a deep, hot ache burning in his wrist and elbow as he tried to grip the pen and the blood trailing down his face was thicker, heavier…His head fell lower in an instinctive attempt to let the blood fall.

The bedroom door creaked open behind him, rousing him out of his thoughts. Thanks to the familiar ring in the air, he already knew who had entered, but the aura that encroached on the back of his chair was more oppressive than usual. Dark was already on alert for anything amiss, which was why the Host did his best to lift his head and maintain his usual decorum.

“The Host lays down his pen—” The utensil fell with a clunk. “—and turns to greet Darkiplier. He surmises that Dark is here because he intends to remind the Host of the lunch they had planned…”

Within seconds, Dark had crossed the room to meet him and before the Host could continue, the older Ego’s hands were gripping his arms just above the elbows, drawing a shrill gasp from him. Once he registered the shaky noise, Dark loosened his hold only slightly, tracing the angle of the Host’s bones and then the tissue around them.

“Your joints are swollen,” he stated curtly, already sliding his hands to the Host’s forearms and tugging on the edge of his sleeves. “Your wrists are bruised…” The right hand rose, taking ahold of the Host’s chin and tilting his face up for Dark’s inspection. “You’re bleeding from the nose.” He must have seen the Host’s surprise at that last fact, as he promptly swept his thumb over the Host’s upper lip to show him the proof. “You’ve waited too long for a transfusion, Host; you’re going to receive one _today_.”

Hearing his symptoms said aloud only seemed to make the sensations stronger; the Host folded his arms closer against his chest, protecting the tender areas in case Dark made another grab for him, and then swiped his tongue over his lips, tasting the blood. “The Host knows that Dark would transfuse with him if he could,” he murmured, “but he doesn’t need to regulate the others. The Host is willing to wait until the others who are viable have an opening in their schedules…”

“Their schedules?” Dark sneered, tendrils of his aura hissing and spitting. “I _allow_ them to have schedules. That doesn’t mean that I will allow you to suffer for the sake of them. The transfusion lasts only four hours. Incompatibility is the only excuse for withholding blood from you.”

The Host chuckled lightly at that, glancing up with a wry smile. “And because Dark is O-positive and therefore incompatible, the Host isn’t sure he has the authority to say that.” Dark stilled at that, tension fairly vibrating through the air around him, and the Host’s smile fell away. “The Host meant no offense—”

“No,” Dark cut him off shortly, his tone cool enough that it only hinted at the ice underneath. “I believe you’re right. We can’t expect any of our resident donors to make time out of their day on a whim. I understand. You don’t want to inconvenience them.”

“The Host nods slowly, certain that Dark intends to make a point with his words…”

“Yes. Visit the doctor; he can tend to your blood and bruises. Meanwhile, _I_ will make your needs known to your donors on your behalf.” Dark smiled then, a thin, dangerous thing that didn’t manage to be as serene as his tone. “I’m certain at least one of them can find some time off if I ask it of them.” With that he turned on his heel, striding briskly out of the room with the Host staring blankly after him, shoulders slowly slumping.

“The Host doubts they would dare to refuse,” he commented lowly to the empty room.

It took less than a minute for Dark to cross the hall to his own room, slipping in and slamming the door shut with a resounding thud. The door itself didn’t hold much weight, but the sheer pressure in the air behind it was enough to let everyone in the house know that Dark was leaving the outer world and shouldn’t be disturbed.

The sleek black desk on the far end of the room was stacked with files; they hadn’t been touched in months, but the cobwebs they gathered were inky blacks and reds, smearing Dark’s fingertips as he brushed at them and then gradually dissolved into a sickly union with his aura.

After a few minutes, he found and cleaned the file he was looking for, resting his hip against the desktop as he scanned the list. He couldn’t help the small smirk that drifted across his face as he saw Dr. Iplier’s faded writing at the top. He and Wilford currently had a bet on how long it would take the doctor to notice that his file of blood types was missing; it had been almost a year and a half now, so Dark didn’t expect him to come looking for it any time soon.

Because nothing could be simple when it came to the Host’s health, he was in the one percent with the rarest blood type, AB-negative. Would that he were AB- _positive_ …If that were the case, Dark could have transfused with him and this would all be over.

Google and Bing, advanced as they were, weren’t able to synthesize blood yet; it was one of the lower objectives on Google’s list and Bing didn’t give it a second thought.

Wilford was the only B-positive among them, incompatible, and even if his type were different…Dark briefly thought back to the last time he’d seen Wilford bleed, when he’d seen the stark _pink_ contrasting with his pale yellow shirt. Whatever changes Will had made to his blood by warping its makeup again and again, Dark was certain that a transfusion from it would do more harm than good.

Silver Shepherd and Dr. Iplier were both A-positive, also incompatible, though Dark had a feeling they would donate if they were able, just as he would. Dr. Iplier was dedicated to making sure that the Host’s bleeding was _stabilized_ , at the very least; he would have been more than happy to give. Silver Shepherd likely would too; though Dark wasn’t sure why, the hero occasionally gave an indication that he wanted to know the Host better. Dark kept an eye on him for that.

The Jim twins and Edgar were O-positive, just as Dark was, which left an O-negative and two A-negatives—the King of the Squirrels, Bim and Yandere.

Dark knew about the King’s crushing hemophobia; he’d been aware of it for years now. He was also aware that if Dark were to ask it of him, the King _would_ go. He was just as frightened of Dark as he was of blood and even that aside, he felt a sense of obligation to the Host because of his past with the Author. It would be easy to convince him to give blood, but the King had a habit of taking long walks in the woods. Dark would have to track him down and drag him back here and the Host didn’t have the time to spare for that.

Yandere could likely be found in his room, slaving through homework or admiring the shrine to his would-be lover. It would also be exceedingly easy for Dark to get his agreement; in fact, Yandere may be so eager that he would slice open his arm for Dark to be sure his blood was suitable. Still…Yandere wanted to earn _favor_ with the Host, in the hopes that he would write a happier ending for him. He wanted nothing out of it except to manipulate the Host and Dark did _not_ like that. His relationship with the Host may have started with the same thoughts, but it had changed far too much for Dark to let a lovesick child take advantage.

It came down to Bim, then. Sliding the file back into its stack, Dark made his way out of his room and across Egos Incorporated, targeting the pocket of reality that held the soundstage. He didn’t often visit this place—only when Wilford begged him to watch the rehearsal for his next gameshow. He and Dark would inevitably end up spending most of their time disposing of the bodies, but Dark indulged him.

Just as he’d suspected, he could hear Bim’s obnoxious tones all the way down the hall, calling out his opening lines and cues for the workers running the lights. As soon as Dark entered the auditorium, the workers stopped up short, staring at him with nothing less than shock and awe. Dark cracked his neck, indifferent to their wide eyes.

“Dark, come on, I’m trying to direct them here!” Bim complained, recapturing his crew’s attention. “It’s not easy being the director, producer, lead technician _and_ the host!”

“The Host is exactly what I need to discuss with you,” Dark answered, casting a narrowed glance at the crew which told them that now might be the prime time for a lunch. Bim groaned as he watched the nervous crewmen scurry out the side doors and then he threw up one hand, flapping the pages of his script.

“You just don’t get it,” he announced. “I’ve got priorities! I can’t have you coming in here at random, scaring off my assistants…I won’t be able to get any work done!” When he saw that Dark’s unfazed expression didn’t change, he huffed, checking his watch briefly. “Okay, what do you want?”

“The Host needs a blood transfusion and you’re one of the three who are compatible,” Dark stated simply. It was succinct, to the point, perfectly clear. Bim should be putting down his script and nodding at any moment.

He _laughed_ —an incredulous, high-pitched bark that grated on Dark’s ears as he waved the script a second time. “Well, the problem with that is I’m slammed today. I’ve got to get this new show down perfect; they’ve bought me more minutes and I have to squeeze all of the ideas I’ve had into _every single one_ I’ve been blessed with! It’s one of the biggest shows of my career tonight!”

“Is that so?” Dark questioned lightly, an edge hissing through the last word as he tracked Bim’s wide, sweeping gestures like a hawk. The showman, caught up in his own thoughts, didn’t notice.

“So you see, big guy, I don’t think I’ll have the time today. How long has it been since the Host had a transfusion? A month? He can wait one more day, can’t he? And besides, you just said there are three of us! Why don’t you get one of the others to do it?”

“The others aren’t readily available.”

“Now I find that hard to believe! Yan is always cooped up in his room, isn’t he? I would know; he’s either there or he’s with me, cheering me on,” Bim chuckled, pausing for a moment of thought. “Actually, he would probably love to get a sneak-peek for tonight’s edition! I should go ask him if he wants to watch!”

“Mr. Trimmer…” Dark cut him off in a low growl, sapping all of the energy out of him to pin him where he was with his gaze. “I don’t believe you’re understanding me. This is an important matter. The Host requires blood and you need to give it. You’ve done it before and I intend to see that you do it again. Not tomorrow. _Now_.”

Bim met his gaze for several seconds before letting his shoulders slump, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head simultaneously. “Dark…ugh, I’m just going to be honest with you. I like the Host, I really do, but just because I gave once doesn’t mean I want to make a habit of it! It wasn’t even my choice; it was just after we’d been discontinued…I got my blood taken when I was unconscious and it saved the Host’s life. Go, me! But I’m _not_ his blood bank; he and I both know that.” Running a hand through his hair, he added, “I’ll just go and explain it to him! I’m sure he’ll agree! He’s a pretty patient guy when he has to be.” With that, he shifted to move past, pressing the pages of his script against Dark’s chest. “Here, hold th—”

He didn’t manage to take another step. Dark tore the papers away with one hand and brought the other up in the same motion, seizing the younger Ego around the throat and wrenching him back. As scattered scraps of paper fluttered gently to the floor around them, Dark bared his teeth in what was only vaguely reminiscent of a smile, synching Bim’s tie tight enough to steal his breath. For five cloying seconds they stayed completely motionless, with Bim’s choked-off gasps amplified by Dark’s aura, and then Dark spoke.

“The Host _is_ a patient man,” he purred, tilting his head just enough that his hair gracefully obscured his eyes. “I am _not_. You say that giving him your blood wasn’t your choice? You think I’m giving you a _choice_ now? Is that what you want? Then let me give you this choice…” Bim’s lungs hitched almost soundlessly as Dark drew him closer, tendrils of his aura curling over the joints in his shoulders and squeezing. “You come to the doctor. You roll up your sleeve. You bare your arm and you give the Host the offering of your substandard blood…or I _bleed_ you here and now, ounce by ounce. I’ll have the doctor bring the Host here, and he can receive the blood while you’re dying. All he requires is that your blood be _warm_.”

Bim made a shallow squeak at that, his pale lips mouthing words, and Dark’s snarl eased into a genuine smile—almost sympathetic.

“Why? Because I _like_ the Host,” he mocked, releasing Bim’s tie and allowing his aura to drag the showman in his wake without any effort. “ _I really do_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is the one good thing that's come out of my biology class! The different blood types and their nuances during transfusions are the one thing that I latched onto, and this is what came out of it! I hope you enjoyed (even though Bim didn't...Sorry, Bim.)


End file.
